


Shredded Capes

by galacticCannibal22



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coming of Age, Cult of the Signless Sufferer, F/M, Hemospectrum, M/M, Nudity, Scars, Slavery, Violence, adding tags as I go, chapters will be very short, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:26:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticCannibal22/pseuds/galacticCannibal22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tales of The Psiioniic and his woes. Will he ever truly open up to Signless and the others?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waterfalls

**Author's Note:**

> ehh i have a headache and my throat itches...sorry if it sucks

He undressed quickly, not minding the other troll's presence. The Psiioniic was used to taking off his clothes in front of others, it had became a sick ritual for him, and he had no shame. His companion, however, sputtered as he saw his naked body. Whether it was from embarrassment or disgust, he did not know. The Psiioniic knew he wasn't attractive, and not pretty to look at, but he didn't really let it bother him. He moved under the spray of the mini waterfall, cleaning him of the dirt and gunk that clung to him so dear.

Signless tried not to watch, for it was not his place to look at his new comrade's bare body. However, the scars entranced him. The way they stretched over his rugged flesh, crinkling as he moved. Some scars were deeper than others, some puffed out, and some were curvy and some were straight. The ones that made Signless the most uncomfortable were the ones near his nether regions. They were merely inches above or below his most sensitive areas, and they were deep. Deeper than the rest. The Psiioniic was thin, and wiry. Almost every bone shown under his dark grey skin, jutting out in random places and sinking in in others. Being trained into slavery was a hard process, and many trolls died. The ones who didn't break under the immense pressure, were under even worse conditions. Owners wanted strong slaves, not weak scavengers unable to do back-breaking labor. The harsh conditions were painted along Psiioniic's body, practically telling a story of hurt and misfortune of having such a low blood color. Signless knew of the strange and horrible ways of training slaves, for the slaves themselves had told him. Yet, seeing the scars of one of those rare trainings so close to one's most private areas made the Signless's stomach lurnch. How could people be so cruel?

"Th'ighle'th?" The previous slave spoke, voice wavering with uncertainly. He was taught to only speak when spoken to, but Signless told him to speak his mind. It was causing a personal dilemma inside of him.

"Call me Kankri, please. " Kankri responded, turning his head away again. The Psiioniic paused, trying to decide if that was an order or merely a suggestion. "That was a request, by the way." The cloaked troll added, rubbing his hands in the soft mud by the steady stream of water.

"Alright...Kankri, what...uh," The Psiioniic cut off again, as if speaking right now was a chore, "I don't have any other clothe'th..." He gestured over to the pile of clothes leaning against a rock. Kankri had immediately asked for Psiioniic to removed such clothes, as they were a symbol of where he had came from. They were only rags, cut from the fabric used for wagons, with his number on it. All slaves had numbers, not names.

\---

_"-and what would you name be?"_ _The cloaked troll asked, his voice gentle. The other troll hesitated, for he did not have a name. Was this troll asking for his number? Was he an instructor? Is this some kind of test? His train of thought was shut off for the cloaked troll had spoken again, "Your name? Please?" He stretched out his arm, palm face up, offering the slave his hand. The slave, however, did not take it, nor did he answer. He flinched away, cowering under the scraps of wood and debris. Something was up, no normal troll walks his dandy self up to a slave and tries to start a conversation. Nor does one follow him around for the next 30 minutes, whistling, as if it was a calming morning walk. This guy was weird. But there was no real harm to it, was there? This could just be a random stranger, who hasn't really opened his eyes to the real world. Maybe he thought that the slave was just a commoner, thinking his clothes and numbers as something else. There would be no harm in telling him his mistake. However, this troll bore no sign. He instead hid under a long grey cloak, tattered at the ends. He wasn't going to go away anytime soon, however, maybe he could get rid of him quicker and get back to his errands if he spoke back._

_"222, th'ir." The slave responded, his way of speech distorted, lisping over the letter 's'._

_The cloaked troll's face scrunched up with disgust, but he didn't leave. He scooted a little closer. "I meant your name...not your number." So he does understand that he is a slave, but he doesn't get that he does not have a name? Slaves don't have names, that's a known fact. What was this guy trying to get him to do...remember his real name? All trolls forced into slavery are ripped of their titles and names, given numbers and a job in return. They are to respond to those numbers, and forget they had a name entirely. "I do not have one, th'ir."_

_"Yes you do, all trolls have names." He replied, smiling a little, "You can tell me, I know you remember your name. I'm a friend, not an enemy."_

_222 hesitated again, his hands beginning to shake as they clutched around his small knapsack. This was against all he was taught, but why was it so tempting? This troll obviously knew what he was getting into by asking him these things. Was he that stupid? Perhaps. All 222 knew was that this was wrong_

_\---_

"We'll get you new clothes, my mother can make you some." Kanrki smiled, unwrapping his cape from around his shoulders, "But until then, you may have my cape."

Psiioniic stared at his weird choice of attire that was hidden under his cloak, and raised an eyebrow. The Signless looked down and sighed, "My mother made it  for me, I have to wear it." 

"A'th long a'th I don't have to wear anything like that, I'll be fine." The Psiioniic smiled, walking out from under the spray of water.

Kankri smiled back, a small chuckle escaping his lips, "You can dry off with the cloak, it dries really fast." He handed over the cloak, where the Psiioniic took it willingly. He rubbed the fabric along his slender form, drying off. 

The other troll looked away, "So..can you tell me your real name now?"

The Psiioniic paused, wrapping the cloak around himself, fastening the button at his collarbone. "I told you."

Kanrki frowned, "No, you told me your title, not your name." He crossed his arms, leaning against the walls of the cave, annoyance practically illuminated off of his face in the dim light. The Psiioniic sighed, making sure he was fully covered before even thinking of responding. But when he was sure nothing was showing, he spoke.

"My name'th Mituna."

 


	2. Call Me Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: It's very short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psiioniic really likes dolorosa ahahhahah

Porrim was a lot different than Mituna had expected, honestly. The way Kankri had spoken of her was like she was some gigantic evil/loving lusus whose reign should not be tempered with. In all reality, she was a very sweet, caring troll whose looks could kill. She kept covered, but through the layers of fabric you could make out curves and muscles along her body. Her short cropped hair framed her face wonderfully, and she had the softest looking skin on Alternia. What got Mituna the most were her eyes, those jade irises that seemed to have flecks of gold in them when the moonlight hit them just right sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't believe that he was practically crushing on this guy's lusus/guardian/mom- whatever.

"Hello there." She smiled, perfect plump black lips spreading to reveal rows of sharp white teeth. Mituna flushed instantly, and oh shit he had it bad. 

Kankri elbowed him in the ribs gently, bringing him back to Alternia quicker than it should have. He sputtered a shy 'Hello' before trying to cower himself behind his new friend (who was a head shorter than him, so it didn't really work). Kankri's mother chuckled, standing up from the fire that she was tending to, and offered her hand. "Don't be shy, I don't bite."

Suddenly, Mituna was pushed in front of the female troll, a lot closer than he wanted to be. He hesitantly reached an arm out from under the cloak and took her hand, only to be yanked into an overwhelmingly tight hug. He squealed, his back popping under the pressure. Damn, she was strong too. 

"Call me Mother, dear."

_Fuck._


	3. You Deserve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehh im sorry for being gone

“He’s so weak and puny!”   
  
Meulin was and interesting creature, at least. She was wild and loud, with a mangy mane and dirty bare feet. She had no problem speaking her mind or fighting for what she wanted. She was extroverted and confident, everything The Psiioniic wasn’t. As Meulin poked and prodded at his skeletal form, she made rude remarks on his showing bones or obscene scars. Porrim, who was sewing up some clothes in the corner of the cave, scolded her, “Meulin, that’s disrespectful! He’s been through a lot, what makes you think that you may speak to him that way?”  
  
Meulin hunched her shoulders, crouching down at The Psiioniic’s feet, and muttered a soft apology before scurrying off into her own respective areas. “I apologize for her actions, Mituna. She’s not used trolls like you.” Porrim smiled. _Trolls like you_. Mituna gulped, nodding and taking a seat beside her. He watched as she wove the needle in and out of the fabric, the black thread complimenting the yellow wonderfully.

"You didn't have to actually make me clothes, I would have been fine with the clothing I already had." 

Porrim paused, "Don't be silly! Those rags shouldn't be worn by anyone, you deserve actual clothes." 

"I deserve?"

She looked over at him, and they made eye contact. Mituna began to sweat, something about her gaze boring into his make him shiver, but not in a sexual way. He felt like she could see right through him, as if he was made of glass. It was like she could read him like words on paper, see his darkest fears and hear his personal thoughts. Porrim was intimidating, Mituna knew that from the start, but know he knew more than ever. 

"Of course." 


End file.
